Nation Painted Red
by Chaser-of-Shadows
Summary: Zombie Apocalypse AU. The undead begin to rise from an unknown cause, and the nations are caught in the middle of it all. Human names used. PruCan, RoChu, Spamano, US/UK, FrUK, GerIta, AusHun, etc. Rated M in future chapters.
1. One

**Hello, fellow readers. As you may have noticed, (if you had gone to my user page, that is), is that this my first Hetalia fan fiction. (It's actually very exciting for me!) And, as this IS my very first Hetalia story, I will do my best to impress you all.  
>Just a few things to let you in on:<strong>

**1) I own nothing. (Not even Prussia and his awesomeness.)**  
><strong>2) I will be using sentences and words from different languages; translations will be listed at the bottom.<br>3) You are very much allowed (and welcome) to give suggestions for the story. (I'd appreciate it; the more plot ideas, the better.)  
>4) Human names are used, however their country will be stated for those of you who might get confused.<br>and 5) This story contains, wait for it...YAOI. Yeah, it does. Don't start crying now, because there are straight pairings too.**

**And now, dear readers, on with the show!  
>(Also, if I happen to spell any of the human names wrong, please tell me, and I will fix it immediately!...Well, in the next chapter, of course...lol.)<strong>

**(One)**

"Das ist lächerlich."

Ludwig Beilshmidt shoved a fresh load of bullets into the revolver in his hands, cursing silently to himself. This situation shouldn't have been happening; right now, he should be at home, waking up to the ever-present smell of pasta, (as the young Italian boy that he usually spent most of his time with had decided to live with him for some strange reason), and then later in the day he would have begun training with his two allies, little Feliciano "Veneciano" Vargas, and the always-quiet Kiku Honda.

Instead, he found himself loading his cherished revoler, (one that, despite being hidden beneath his pillow every night, had not been fired in many years), while his brother barricated the door they had just recently rushed through to get to cover.

From what, you may be asking?  
>Well...<p>

"Westen, quit complaining for a second." His elder brother, Gilbert Beilshmidt, hissed through clenched teeth. Bangs came from the other side of the door, and the attacker's nails dug into the wood, peeling strands off of the surface. Cursing loudly, Gilbert kicked the door open and let loose. Bodies quickly began to pile up as Gilbert quickly emptied his shotgun. Quickly yanking the two pistols clipped to his waist, the Prussian opened fire, bullets burying themselves in the foreheads of numerous mangled-looking individuals. Gilbert continued to pull the triggers of both handguns, fearing that if he stopped, he and his brother would be goners.

Clicking was all that emitted from the pistols.

"Gott verdammt!" Gilbert hissed, fumbling for the spare ammo at his side. Just when the Prussian had finally managed to retrieve the extra bullets, the small cartridges were knocked from his hand. Time seemed to slow to a crawl; Gilbert found himself flying backwards as rotted appendages reached out towards him. His back collided with the ground, the air quickly knocked out of him. Desperately, he reached for his shotgun, which he had so carelessly tossed aside in his haste to grab the spare handguns; his actions were halted by decaying hands latching onto his arm, trying their hardest to hoist up their victim and rip him to pieces.

_"Mein Gott,"_ Gilbert thought miserably. _"I'm going to die."_

He found his body being dragged upwards, and his eyes locked onto those of the dead; empty sockets, with a strangely bright orange glow illuminating the blank spaces. Jaws opened, revealing rotten teeth that dripped acidic saliva. Gilbert felt his body go numb, as he let the truth of the situation sink in. He was going to die; and then, West would too.

_"What an awful way to go."_

His thoughts were halted by the sound of gunfire.

Suddenly, he was jerked upright, forced to stand. He stared up at his brother, stunned, as the younger of the two took out nearly twenty of the monsters that swayed in place before them. Quickly, the Prussian regained himself, snatching up his shotgun off the floor and loading it with slightly trembling fingers; not that he would ever admit he was trembling.

"Hurry, Bruder. Follow me!"

Ludwig grabbed hold of his brother's wrist, dragging him down the long corridor. They quickly zig-zagged through familiar hallways and doorways, pain striking at their hearts with every memorable object they passed. This was their home, their birthplace, and the place where all of their memories resided.

And now, they had to leave it all behind.

_"Not everything." _Gilbert thought quickly, catching sight of a silver cage that sat atop one of the table they were heading towards. Inside, a small, fluffy bird cheeped pitifully. The Prussian snatched the cage up into his arms the second he neared the table, holding it protectively close to his chest. The yellow chick inside twittered happily at the sight of its master.

Despite their running speed, the undead were closing in on them, screeching and groaning loudly. Gilbert's shotgun was once again emptied as he aimed behind them and opened fire once more. Finding himself low on ammunition, Gilbert strapped the shotgun onto his back and continued to rush down the maze of corridors that filled his home, never once loosening his grip on the birdcage; he would not afford to lose any members of his family, and that included even the smallest ones. His younger brother jerked him to the side and, with hope filling his every vein, Gilbert could see the front entrance. He looked toward his younger brother, who nodded quickly at him. Both stopped quickly, thrust out their legs, and kicked the front door open.

Sunlight poured in through the open doorway, blinding the brothers. They quickly shielded their eyes, rushing forward out onto the yard. They jumped over numerous dead bodies that littered the walkway; the remnants of those who had not been so fortunate to escape the area. What made that fact even more horrible was that, very soon, they would rise again, but as monstrosities.

Gilbert swallowed the bile rising in his throat and clutched onto the silver cage in his arms. Ludwig regarded him with a somber expression. He quickly patted his shoulder, before trying to quicken his pace; the undead were closing in.

"Westen, we're going to die! We can't run much longer!"

Ludwig grit his teeth, looking around him hurriedly. He was right, there was nothing left they could use to get away any faster; even worse, they were deadly low on ammunition.  
><em>What to do... <em>Ludwig began to sweat profusely. _What to do-..._

The sound of screeching tires suddenly filled the air. They stopped dead in their tracks, mouths agape, as a large army Jeep swerved around the bend. The minigun attached to the back spun quickly, bullets pelting the sea of decaying fiends that had been running towards the German brothers. The truck squealed to a halt in front of them, the side door thrown open by the driver.  
>Ludwig and Gilbert released a sigh of relief.<p>

"Mein _Gott, _Roderich. You have the greatest timing."

The Austrian gave them a small nod, eyeing the woman shoving another chain of bullets into the minigun. She turned to look at the others, smiling sweetly; (though, she _did _scowl when she set her eyes upon the Prussian brother.)

"It's been a while, you two."  
>"That it has, Elizabeta."<p>

Gilbert quickly crawled into the back, clutching onto the birdcage tightly. Shivers were racking his body, and he looked near tears; he was absolutely terrified. Ludwig climbed into the front seat, giving his brother a worried glance. Gilbert quickly shook it off, rubbing at his eyes.

_Nein. _He chided himself internally. _No crying. You're the older brother; you have to stay strong for Westen._

Roderich threw the truck into drive, and slammed his foot down on the gas. Ludwig clutched onto the door tightly, back being thrown into the seat roughly. Elizabeta jolted forward, body crashing into the large gun. She swore in her native tounge, and Roderich heaved a sigh.

"Elizabeta, dear, a young lady such as yourself-."  
>"Fuck <em>that, <em>Mr. Roderich."

Gilbert whistled at her vocabulary, while simultaneously smothering a laugh when taking note of the Austrian's expression.  
>"<em>My, <em>such language, dear. Ah well, we _are _in grave times, I suppose."

The Prussian chuckled softly, and Elizabeta went red in the face. She then realized, with a sad sigh, that this was going to be a _long _drive.

**A/N: And that is the first chapter, my dears! Reviews are appreciated. (I hope everything is spelled correctly; for some reason, Spellcheck is no longer on the typing program. This bothers me to no end, but I have no choice but to assume that everything is spelled correctly. I'm much too lazy to go through every paragraph and check the spelling regularly...ugh, too much to check.)**

**As I said before, leave me plot ideas, I appreciate that and welcome it 100%!  
>(Also, all you USUK and FrUK fans, my apologies in advance. I have _no _idea who I support more, since I never got into either pairing. I'll try and please you both, my friends!)**

**Translations:****  
>Das ist lächerlich. - This is ridiculous.<br>Westen - West  
>Gott verdammt! - God damnit!<br>Mein Gott - My God  
>Nein - No<strong>


	2. Two

**Hello, fellow readers. As you may have noticed, (if you had gone to my user page, that is), is that this my first Hetalia fan fiction. (It's actually very exciting for me!) And, as this IS my very first Hetalia story, I will do my best to impress you all.  
>Just a few things to let you in on:<strong>

**1) I own nothing. (Not even Prussia and his awesomeness.)**  
><strong>2) I will be using sentences and words from different languages; translations will be listed at the bottom.<br>3) You are very much allowed (and welcome) to give suggestions for the story. (I'd appreciate it; the more plot ideas, the better.)  
>4) Human names are used, however their country will be stated for those of you who might get confused.<br>and 5) This story contains, wait for it...YAOI. Yeah, it does. Don't start crying now, because there are straight pairings too.**

**Welcome back, dear readers! Here is the next chapter; I hope you enjoy it. And, once again, on with the show!  
>Also, dearies, I thank you deeply for your advice for how to continueimprove the story. Normally, people hate being given advice (which I hoenstly don't understand), but I LOVE it. If you have any plot ideas, PLEASE tell me! Keep this story going as long as possible, guys!**

**(There have been a few comments about Feliciano and Kiku's whereabouts. In truth, I decided to jump back and forth between different individuals, slowly connecting them all together. Kiku and Feli WILL appear, but, possibly, not until Chapter 3 or 4. Sorry, dears!)**

**(Two)**

The weather used to be nice.

Matthew Williams sat with his back against a brick wall, staring up tiredly at the dark sky above him. He winced as one of the first raindrops hit a cut on his cheek, causing it to sting. He let out a shaky sigh, holding a plush polar bear close to his chest. It calmed him, even in the darkest of times; after all, Papa had gotten it for him.

_Papa._

Matthew felt tears burn at the corner of his eyes, but he quickly pushed them back, wiping furiously at them with the back of his hand.  
><em>'No,'<em> he thought, _'I won't think that way. Papa is in a better place now.'_

Shakily, the young Canadian stood upright, legs wobbling as he trudge down the dark and damp alleyway he had been resting in moments ago. He winced weakly as his feet were sliced open repeatedly by the multiple shards of broken glass that littered the ground. Despite the pain, he marched forward, putting the pain past him and placing the idea of safety and freedom before him. Once he was out of the city limits, and back in the countryside, he was sure to be much safer.

After all, the disease had mostly started in heavily-populated areas.  
>At least, that's what the "survivors" had been told.<p>

Matthew had been visiting the city so that Papa could meet with a potential business partner; their home was, in truth, a cottage in the French countryside. It sat atop a hill, overlooking a small town down the way. The building was surrounded by bushes upon bushes of roses, his Papa's favorite flower. Matthew could almost smell the freshly-made crepes that Papa would set out on lazy summer days.

This time, Matthew could not stop the tears from flowing. He sobbed as the memories flooded through his mind, and he found himself clutching tightly onto the polar bear plushie in his arms. Never again would he share a warm meal with his Papa; never again would he help his Papa clip the weeds away from the rose bundles; never again would Papa read him bedtime stories, or sing him to sleep during his most restless nights, or pat his head in the affectionate way that he used to.

_Never again..._

Matthew hiccuped, salty drops coating his dirty cheeks. His vision blurred, not just from the tears that refused to cease, and his knees buckled. He felt the ground rush up towards him, and his eyes rolled back into his head, as he collided with the concrete below.

Never again; _never again._  
>Matthew had given up.<p>

-.0.-

"Quit slackin', Iggy!"  
>Arthur Kirkland was unsure why he put up with the boy sometimes.<p>

He scowled at the blonde boy before him, who was waving his pistol around in what could only be described as a "bored" fashion.  
>He honestly could not understand that, despite the fact that the undead had suddenly risen and had practically wiped out all other life, he could still be unamused. <em>'Honestly,'<em> Arthur hissed to himself. _'A boy how had once gushed about how "awesome" it would be to enter a Zombie Apocalypse suddenly gets his sick and twisted wish, and he finds it dull?'_

"Iggym get your head out of the clouds! And stop glaring at me"

And now he was pouting; pouting like a stubborn child. His blue eyes held a faint twinge of (faked) sadness as the British man continued to stare at him in annoyance, thick eyebrows knitting together to form an expression that was less-than-pleasant. Scoffing, Arthur trudged forward, pushing passed the young man in front of him.

"Come along, boy, get a move on."

For some reason, this made the blonde boy grin.  
>Arthur always knew how to turn his own words around on him.<p>

"Yes, Iggy~, I'm coming." The American smirked, following close behind the Brit.

The two moved forward, towards the location of the last-known "safe" location. And while Alfred F. Jones might have been calm and carefree about the whole situation, Arthur Kirkland certainly was not.

-.0.-

"So, where are we heading towards?" Ludwig questioned, gaze turned towards Roderich as he drove quickly, yet cautiously, down the dirt path before them.  
>"Elizabeta, dear, hand him the map."<p>

Gilbert watched from the bottom-left corner of the truck as the Hungarian woman pulled a map from the inside of her army jacket. Ludwig took it from her, pulling it open and letting his eyes fall upon a large, red circle near the center. He eyed the Austrian warily.

"What is this location, exactly?"

Roderich seemed tense as he produced a disk from the slot from the driver's door. He popped it into the radio, and the silence was broken by a soft and smooth piano piece.  
>He spared a glance to the German man beside him.<p>

"It is where everyone else is going; one of the last 'safe' locations in the entire area."

**A/M: Sudden ending is sudden. Sorry, sweeties! So, are you startled by learning about Francis? It is shocking, yes? And what of Matthew? Guess you'll have to find out in the next chapter, hm? If there are any mispellings or uncorrect grammar, I apologize! Kinda hard to do this when FanFiction no longer has the Spell Check thingy. -fail-**


End file.
